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“No.” The word was barely a whisper as it slid out of my mouth and I mentally added lying to the list of sins I was going to have to confess later.

“Tell me something…” His hand shifted, moving from that safe squeeze around my larynx to press flat and cut off my ability to breathe. “Is it this, or is it because I’m the one doing it?”

I reached up and broke his hold on me, knocking his arms away before sliding past him toward the door. But the quarterback was fast and he raced around me, leaning against the only exit, blocking my escape.

“Don’t fucking flatter yourself,” I snapped. “Let me go.”

“You can’t walk out there like that,” he teased, dragging his gaze to my crotch.

“You’re making it rapidly deflate,” I assured him.

And it was. Though it had more to do with my confusion than anything he’d done. Why did I want him to touch me so badly? Why couldn’t I stop thinking about his hand on my throat?

And why the hell had he done it in the first place?

He reached up and flicked the deadbolt on the door, his gaze returning to my face and a smirk tipping his full lips. “We’re not done here.”

“Goddamn it, Trevor,” I growled. “I’m not writing your fucking paper for you.”

“I never thought you would,” he said. “Honestly, I’m shocked you gave me what you did. I thought you’d fuck me over on it.”

“I considered it,” I admitted. I blew out a sigh, crossing my arms over my chest as I stared at him. “But since you ran to the monsignor to demand that I help you, I couldn’t just do nothing. I have a future to consider, too.”

“As a priest,” he said, nodding.

“Yes,” I insisted. “As a priest. But in the meantime, I have classes I need to get to, and you have a paper to write. So, please stop whatever this is so I can leave.”

I fucking hated how whiny my voice sounded, but I couldn’t help it. I was well and truly scared now. I could feel the fear licking at my insides. Unfortunately, I wasn’t sure if I was more scared that he wouldn’t let me go, or that he would.

“I’ll let you leave,” he promised. “But I have to ask you something, and you need to be completely honest with me.”

I stared at him, studying the hardness of his gaze, the set line of his jaw. There was no trace of humor on his handsome face, and that alone made me curious enough to nod in agreement.

“Did someone fuck you up?” he asked softly. “Is that why you’re into…” He waved a hand between us.

It took me a moment to understand what he meant, and when I finally got it, I felt myself relax. I didn’t believe Trevor actually gave a shit about me, but I appreciated the question. He had no problem hurting me physically, but if I was reading him correctly, he was worried about inflicting a completely different kind of damage on me. One that maybe even he wasn’t willing to risk doing.

“Look, if you’re asking if someone touched me in my no-no bits against my will, the answer is no.” I blew out a sigh and dropped my gaze to my feet. “It’s not a trauma response, it’s not Freudian, it’s not an illness. It’s just who I am and what I like. Now kindly fuck off so we can both stop pretending that you care.”

“Oh, but Princess, I do care.” He reached out and placed a finger under my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes. “Because if it’s just what you like…I could give it to you. Better than anyone else ever could. You need someone to hurt you? All you have to do is ask.”

“No,” I whispered, my eyes widening as I pulled away from his touch. “No, Trevor, I can’t. I’m going to be a priest. You do understand what that means, right?”

“Of course I do,” he insisted. “But you’re not a priest yet. Lots of guys sow their oats before they take their vows.”

How the fuck did he know that? Had he…was he researching shit about me? Was that how he knew to squeeze my throat instead of pressing down against it? Did he want…

“What do you want?” I asked him, swallowing thickly to try to stem the tears that were burning my eyes. “Please don’t do this to me.”

“Don’t do what?” he asked, stepping closer, leaving so little space between our bodies that every time I inhaled my chest brushed against his. “Don’t give you what you need?”

“You have no idea what I need,” I whispered. But even as I said it, evidence of what I needed strained between us, my cock hard and swollen in my jeans and God help me, I wanted him to touch me again.

“I do know,” he said softly. “But Princess you have to ask for it. I’ve done enough damage over the years and I won’t take this from you unless you ask me to.”

Well that was good. Because I’d never ask him. Never put words to what I desperately wanted from him. I hadn’t wanted his apologies and I certainly didn’t want to ask him to touch me. I’d rather live with the pain forever.

It would be good practice. It had been good practice.